


Evening Gloam

by kunstvogel



Category: Futurama
Genre: Diabetes, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-18
Updated: 2017-11-18
Packaged: 2019-02-03 19:07:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12754380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kunstvogel/pseuds/kunstvogel
Summary: Bender just wishes there was something he could do.





	Evening Gloam

"Ben," Fry mumbles, shaking him with weak fingers. "Ben, wake up."

"Mmmn," Ben groans, rolling over. "Fry? Wha's goin' on, babe?"

"I don' feel good," Fry whimpers, clutching his belly. "'M hot...an' my tummy hurts."

Bender sits up, flipping the light on. "Shit," he hisses. "Fry, you look like hell." And he _does-_ his skin is too pale, blotchy red on his nose and cheeks, slick with sweat. He was asleep when Ben got home, but there are dark circles under his watery eyes like he hadn't gotten any rest at all.

"When'd you check your sugar last?" Ben asks, immediately reaching for Fry's kit.

"When I got home," Fry whispers. "At noon. It was high."

"And you took a shot?"

Fry nods. He watches blearily as Ben pricks his finger, checking the sensor.

"Fuck," he hisses, not looking at Fry. Fry doesn't _want_ to know how bad it is. He closes his eyes, swallowing thickly as the nausea swells up his throat. He swallows bile, grimacing.

"Ben," he whimpers, reaching out blindly. Ben's fingers interlace with his for a moment, then dissapear. His palms return, gently rolling Fry onto his belly, tugging down his pajama bottoms. It's bad, Fry knows, when they have to do it this way. It hurts this time, and he muffles a few sobs into the pillow.

"Sorry," Ben says, his voice rough. He removes the needle, wiping the site down and putting a band-aid over it. He tugs Fry's pants back up, patting his back reassuringly, and packs up the kit again. The bed shifts and Fry hears him leave. He's too tired to speak and lets out a low whine, bereft.

Within a moment Ben returns, pressing a cool water bottle in Fry's hand.

"Drink," he orders, and Fry obeys. He sucks from the bottle, trying to go slowly. Ben joins him on the bed again, palm rubbing slow circles into Fry's back. He hates to see Fry like this, tired and hurting and ill. He feels helpless. If only there was something he could do. Something to stop Fry from suffering so constantly.

Fry finishes the water, letting the bottle slip from his fingers. Ben takes it, setting it on the bedside table, and brings Fry close.

"C'mon," he urges, tucking the lanky ginger up against his stomach, spooning him. He slings his arm around Fry's waist, his palm sneaking under Fry's shirt, rubbing his soft belly.

"'M sorry," Fry whimpers. "I-I just can't keep up with it. I'm so tired, Ben."

"Shhh. Don't worry about it. Just try to get some rest, babe." Ben presses a kiss to Fry's hair, his fingers still working gentle circles into Fry's skin. Fry is asleep within a few minutes, his breathing slow and steady, his soft features highlighted in the dim gloam of the lamp.

_If only there was something I could do,_ Ben thinks.


End file.
